


Among the Willows

by PeachyWoNiu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Western, F/F, F/M, M/M, Omega Verse, Sex, Shooting Guns, Wild West Sheriff Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachyWoNiu/pseuds/PeachyWoNiu
Summary: This is an alternate universe that takes place in the middle of the wild west. I'm going to follow the show kind of but also probably not really lol. I'm brand new to the whole Omegaverse thing, so if you have suggestions please let me know cause I'm just kind of making it up as I go! Lots of sex and violence so be warned! Tags may or may not change, so keep a look out for that as the story progresses.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & John Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester
Comments: 32
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter I

~ 0 ~

The sun was just starting to dip in the sky, casting a sleepy glow over the hustle and bustle of the city. Carriages trundled past, their occupants lazily watching out the window at the passersby strolling down the promenade. A pair of men in aprons carefully walked a barrel to a waiting wagon. A woman swept the front porch of a palatial town house while another sold fresh flowers from a basket. And lamplighters carefully opened the glass cases of streetlamps, preparing for the dark of night, dampening the natural glow of the few early stars in the sky.

A rush of skirts and perfume drew Sam Winchester’s attention back to the blond beauty on his arm. He smiled reflexively as her expressive brown eyes locked on to his own. Jessica Moore pressed closer to his side silently saying that she was happy to be there. Sam thought she was the highlight of the already gorgeous evening. She had dressed to the nines, her narrow skirt was a deep blue, her jacket a tasteful black with a jeweled brooch at the collar. Every fold of fabric hugged the curves of her body just the right way.

Sam felt other eyes linger on her as their group made its way down the crowded street. A number of them followed after, taking in Jessica’s intoxicating Omega scent. Sam didn’t know the aroma personally. He still hadn’t presented, and couldn’t scent like those that had. But he could imagine it was irresistible. Not only were Omegas a rare thing anymore, but she was truly stunning. Quite the catch for a Beta or Alpha looking for a mate.

Trying to ignore the stone of anxiety that suddenly dropped into his gut, he stiffened the arm that Jessica clung to and put on a face that said, ‘I may not be presented, but she’s mine’.

Thankfully it seemed to work, and the people following them lost interest and dispersed. None in their group seemed to notice Sam’s sudden bristling. The sanctity of the evening had been preserved. After a beat, one of the other men in the small group caught Sam’s eye as they approached the saloon doors and waggled his eyebrows. Heat rose into Sam’s cheeks, but he smiled back all the same. Of course, Brady noticed; they were good friends after all.

Inside hadn’t gotten busy yet. The lanterns on the wall and in the chandelier were being lit in preparation for the soon to be fully set sun. The four college friends easily made their way through the mostly empty establishment and cozied up to the bar top.

“What can I get y’all?” the bartender asked, gaze lingering pointedly on Brady, recognizing his status as highest-ranking Beta in the group.

Brady stepped up, chest forward. Giving the man a slightly dangerous smile, he ordered a round of whiskey for all of them. As far as dominance matches went, it wasn’t the most intense Sam had ever seen. Just last week in fact, he witnessed two Betas trading punches in the park over an Omega mate. It got nasty before one pinned the other to the ground, snarling and spitting blood. No one dared pull them apart. If they were disputing, that was their right. It ended up being the Omega that drew the Beta away with a whine and lowered head in the end.

The bartender adopted a similar kind of posture with Brady (obviously less submissive than an Omega would be), showing that he was not challenging, and went about setting four glasses on the counter in front of the group.

Satisfied, Brady turned to Sam, and threw a chummy arm around his shoulder, “To our late-bloomer, Mr. Winchester! Congratulations on making it through to the _real_ classes. Welcome to law school.”

The four of them took down the shots in one go. Sam tried hard not to think about the fact that he was a “late-bloomer.” But as the evening wore on and the saloon became more populated with warm bodies, he couldn’t help but dwell on Brady’s words. If he had any hope of presenting as Beta like he wished, he was about one year overdue. If he presented as Omega – which was looking more and more likely – then he would have to quit school. When Jessica presented a few weeks ago, she herself had to withdraw from classes.

After the civil war twenty years ago, Omegas were given more freedoms. It was still illegal for Omegas to go to school and travel alone. Alphas and Betas could then do what they were born to do and look after the Omegas, physically, financially, and intellectually. Omegas _were_ a rare thing now. Disease and the general unforgiving nature of the ‘wild west’ had decimated their numbers. Usually only Alphas and high-ranking Betas could find and lay claim on an Omega mate. Just another reason for Sam to feel worried about presenting.

“Are you alright, Mr. Winchester?” Jessica asked, suddenly appearing at the tall man’s side. “You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

Sam started slightly under her delicate touch. Not quite able to meet her eyes he chuckled, “ _Felt_ like I was a thousand miles away…my apologies, Miss Moore.”

Her brows drew together, marring the perfectly smooth skin of her forehead. He couldn’t resist when she gave him that look, so he leaned in close so only she could hear and said, “I’m fine, Jess, really.”

She softened when he used her nickname, only a trace of skepticism remaining in the corner of her slightly pursed lips before even that melted away, transforming into a smile. As she draped her arms up and over Sam’s shoulders, pressing her body against his boldly, Sam noticed the flush of drink on her cheeks. Leaning in as she tugged him closer to her level, she whispered into his ear, “Care to escort an Omega home?”

The soft vibration of her voice combined with the feel of her hot breath on his skin sent a tingle down his spine. It settled low in his groin, making it twitch with excitement. He recalled the last time her lips had brushed his skin and desire caused him to suck in a sharp breath. Not bothering to hide the huge grin on his face, he nodded emphatically.

They gave their excuses to their friends who were much further along in their consumption of spirits and slipped out of the front doors into the city. The sun had set by now. The flickering light of streetlamps cast a warm glow on the walk; a pale interpretation of the golden light that had flooded the streets earlier as they headed into the saloon. Didn’t change how beautiful Jessica looked. Her skin practically glowed.

They clung to each other as they wound through the sleepy streets. Both had thoughts of the boarding house racing through their minds. Jessica’s father owned the building that about a dozen college students stayed in, Sam included. Which meant that Jessica knew all of the secluded places where they could hold each other in peace. They’d spent their fair share of time away from prying eyes over the two years that Sam had lived there, in said places.

As soon as he’d seen her, Sam knew that he wanted to mate with her. She was beautiful, smart, funny, kind; everything that someone would want in a pack partner. Jessica said she felt the same. They’d started courting only three months after Sam moved in to the boarding house.

This added to Sam’s anxieties about presenting late. If he ended up as an Omega, he would lose her. Omegas can only be part of the same pack if the leaders of said pack brought them together. If he was a Beta, then he could mate with Jessica and start his own pack, just like his father did with his mother. Then they could find land somewhere and start a family of their own.

When Sam caught sight of the lights on the outside of the boarding house, he slowed their pace. Jessica noticed but didn’t mind. In fact, she matched Sam’s stride, her cheeks darkening further. Sam entwined his long fingers with hers, concentrating on how complete he felt being so near. It was here that the presence of the ring he’d purchased (with what little money he could scrape together) started burning a hole in his pocket. He wanted so badly to pull it out and promise himself to her. But he was waiting. Waiting until he was sure he could make her his.

He was so busy living in his own head that he didn’t notice the figure in the alleyway next to the boarding house until it was too late. A hand shot out from the shadows, clamping down on Sam’s shoulder. His response was immediate. He put himself between the unknown assailant and Jessica, snarling like his father had taught him. Next, he moved to overpower, gripping handfuls of clothing. Blows were traded and deflected. To Sam it felt like ages. In reality it only lasted about thirty seconds.

For a moment, Sam felt like he won. He angled his body, locking his arms around the person in a way that promised he was about to be pinned. But then the person’s foot hooked behind his knee unexpectedly, making him stumble. Before he knew it, Sam’s back slammed against the brick wall of the boarding house.

“Easy, partner.”

Sam breathed heavily through his nose in disbelief at the voice. The light from the gas lamps fell over one half of his attacker’s face, illuminating a familiar set of green eyes and freckles.

Mouth falling open, Sam choked out, “Dean?”

“You’re out of practice.” Dean smirked, slowly releasing his hold on Sam.

It had been years since Sam had last seen his brother, and he hadn’t changed. Still wearing the same faded hat and cocky expression. At his brother’s words, Sam felt a stirring of familiar annoyance deep in his soul. He wasn’t a kid anymore. Without a word, Sam took ahold of Dean’s wrist, slammed the heel of his hand into Dean’s back and forced him to the cobblestone.

“Or not,” Dean choked out. “Get off me.”

Grinning, Sam obliged, offering a hand to his brother. Dean took it, dusting off his pants with mock irritation.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Sam asked.

Dean’s gaze finally locked on to the beautiful woman over Sam’s shoulder. Remembering that Jessica was still there, Sam turned and caught sight of her warry expression. Offering her a weak smile, Sam explained, “Miss Jessica Moore, let me introduce my brother, Dean Winchester.”

She was guarded. Sam noticed her nostrils flaring slightly as she took in his brother’s scent. Dean tipped his hat back and nodded his head respectfully, “Miss Moore.”

After a moment she decided that he wasn’t a threat. Her fists un-clenched as she graciously nodded her head in recognition of the shorter of the two.

“I’ll just go inside then,” she said, shooting Sam a look. “Give you two time to talk.”

That was the last thing Sam wanted. His brother was here to give him a hard time. Just like their father had over the years he’d been away. It did surprise Sam that John had stooped so low as sending Dean, his loyal dog, to visit in person. Usually he’d only receive a passive-aggressive letter thinly veiled as a plea for him to return.

“Wait,” Sam called, going after her and catching her by the elbow. “Whatever you came to say, you can say in front of Miss Moore.”

He moved away from his brother and slid a protective arm around Jessica’s narrow shoulders, silently stating that they were together. It was a dominance play. Sam knew that. Dean knew that. Jessica knew that. Dean had most likely presented as Beta since Sam left which meant that legally he could order Jessica into submission if he really wanted. Sam would never let that happen, not while he was still able to resist the natural laws of Alpha, Beta, and Omega.

“Right,” Dean mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Pa hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Nothing new.

“He’ll show sooner or later once the whiskey doesn’t have a hold of him.”

Subtly, Dean bit his bottom lip. After a moment he continued pointedly, “Pa went on a _hunting trip_ and hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Sam’s blood ran cold. A hunting trip could only mean one thing to Winchesters: bounty hunting. Somehow, he managed to keep his expression under control and turned to Jessica. Very calmly he mumbled, “Go ahead on inside, I’ll be in in a little while.”

Her large brown eyes glanced worriedly between the two brothers before she nodded reluctantly and made her way toward the front door of the boarding house. She threw one last concerned look over her shoulder at Sam before shutting the door behind her. The pair waited until she fully disappeared before turning to each other.

Putting his hands in his jacket pockets, Sam shrugged, “So? He’s missing, what makes you think he wants to be found?”

“What? You got shit between your ears?” Dean asked incredulously. “He _needs_ us, Sammy, and I need help finding him.”

“Remember that desperado in Amherst? Or the train robber in Clifton?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes. “He _always_ goes missing, Dean…and he’s _always_ fine.”

Sam headed further into the alley, to keep away from prying eyes and ears, but he stopped when he noticed Dean had stilled.

“Not for this long,” Dean said darkly.

Sam would never say that his brother was a worrier – stubborn maybe – but not one to fret. So, to see the faint trace of thinly veiled fear in his eyes came as a bit of a surprise. Still it wasn’t enough to sway him. Not when it was all too much trouble. John and Dean Winchester were bad news. Rubbing at the stubble on his jaw, Sam found that he still couldn’t tell his brother to get back on his horse and leave, despite knowing he should.

“So, you going to ride out with me or not?”

“No,” Sam answered instantly. His life was here, in Stanford, with Jessica.

“Why not?”

“I swore that I was done, Dean.”

“Come on,” Dean scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the nearby wall of the boarding house. “Life out in the wild wasn’t easy, sure…but it wasn’t all bad.”

_Seriously?_ Sam wondered. _You make it sound like a cakewalk._

“When I told Pa that I was afraid to go to the outhouse by myself, he gave me a .45.”

Dean tilted his head down enough that Sam couldn’t fully see his facial expression as he countered, “What was he supposed to do?”

Sam shook his head in disbelief, “He was supposed to go with me, or tell me there was nothing to be afraid of! I was seven, Dean.”

“Nothing to be afraid of?” Dean countered, pushing away from the wall to face Sam squarely. “Of course, you should be afraid, you know who’s out there.”

Sam averted his gaze. Of course, he knew. Outlaws; mean sons of bitches with bounties on their heads. But that didn’t reach as far as Stanford’s civilized streets. The kind of wild west that Dean was talking about was reserved for the land between the Mississippi and the Sierra Nevada where they’d both spent their childhoods.

“I understand,” Sam replied, hunching his shoulders under his older brother’s intense gaze. “But after Mama was killed – the way Pa brought us up – Dean, he was a man obsessed.”

Sam knew that Dean knew what he was talking about. They both understood that that was why Sam decided to leave in the first place. Dean looked away, hunching his shoulders slightly as if that would help keep the truth away.

Sam continued, “We kill every damn criminal we _can_ find, but it’s never enough.”

“We save a lot of people doing so.”

His brother’s voice sounded so small. Sam wasn’t even sure Dean realized. It made the taller of the two pause and think about the people trying to survive in the wild country. Lawmen were few and far between out there. And of the ones there were, more than half were crooked.

“You think Ma would have wanted that life for us?” Sam asked after a moment’s pause, his voice trembling as he thought of the memories of her Dean would half-remember and tell him about. His favorite was when Dean would tell him about the old homestead on the plains of Kansas; simpler times.

To Sam’s frustration, he caught sight of Dean glowering in response. His brother stuffed his hands in his jacket and took a few steps further into the dark of the alley. The younger of the two watched as he disappeared into the shadows. He knew that Dean wanted him to follow. He almost did out of instinct. But he stopped, thinking of Jessica waiting for him. He needed to let Dean know that he wasn’t going; plainly.

The pair went through the alleyway, silent and brooding. When they reached the other side, Sam noticed the beautiful black mare hitched and waiting. That was Pa’s old horse, Baby. He’d gotten a good deal from a rancher they’d helped with a bandit problem and raised her from a foal. Sam never thought he’d see the day that his father entrusted his precious horse to someone else, even someone like Dean who loved her as much, if not more.

Dean broke the silence first. Starting on untying the reigns around the post, he spat, “So what, you gonna live some apple pie life now?”

“No,” Sam muttered, more to himself than his brother. “A lawful life.”

The black mare waiting to be untied peered between the both of them curiously, huffing loudly when Dean did not release her head to her. She could feel the energy between them and it made her stamp her hoof in agitation.

Dean ran his hand along her snout before muttering, “That’s why you ran…”

_I’m not running from anything…just not settling for the shit hand we were dealt_. Sam defended silently. _Is that so unforgivable?_

“Pa was the one who told me to stay gone if I left,” Sam answered, sidling up close to Dean’s horse. “So that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Running his palm along Baby’s neck, Dean thought carefully about his next words. Eventually he mumbled, “Sammy, if he’s not dead already…he’s in real trouble.”

Sam didn’t answer.

“I can’t do this alone.”

His older brother was definitely not one to ask for help easily.

Sam narrowed his eyes, “Yes you can.”

His brother could do anything. He’d seen him hogtie a man twice his size. And make six bullets feel like twenty.

Scuffing his heel on the ground, Dean grumbled, “Yeah, well, I don’t want to.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

If their father really was in trouble, should Sam do something? Last time he’d had words with John, they’d been out on the road somewhere east about three years ago. John had just landed a solid hit to Sam’s jaw and angrily told him that his place was with his pack out in the wild, not in some hoity-toity big city. Sam had looked at Dean standing frozen a few feet away, clearly wrestling with the idea of going against their leader and father. When he saw that confusion and pain on his big brother’s face, Sam realized that their father was poison. Spitting the blood from the corner of his mouth onto his father’s shoes, he turned, saddled up, and left.

“You know…” Dean said quietly, almost a whisper. “I left you to your business. Never bothered you.”

That was true. It was always their father trying to harass him with letters. He had been the only one to respect Sam’s wishes. The younger of the two could see the urgency in Dean’s eyes; the way he clenched onto the reigns in his hands. It was unsettling to see him that way.

“…meet me at the stables on the east side of town,” Sam said finally looking up from his feet. “You can fill me in on the situation when I get there. I’ll help you find him.”

A grin brightened Dean’s features, making him look much younger than his twenty-six years. He clapped Sam on the shoulder, hopped up into his saddle and spurred his horse down the cobblestone street. Sam shook his head, silently hoping that he wouldn’t regret agreeing to help.

As soon as Sam quietly closed the front door of the boarding house he headed up to his room. Jessica came in shortly after he did, worried face illuminated by the dim glow of the candle she clutched close to her chest. Her large brown eyes shifted from the rucksack Sam was currently packing to his broad shoulders.

Stepping closer she said, “Your law classes start next week, you can’t leave now.”

Sam hadn’t heard her come in. His fingers froze around the pistol he’d almost pulled out. Jessica didn’t know about his past life. Not everything. And he wanted to keep it that way.

Nervously, he shoved the gun back into the depths of the drawer and turned to face her. Not wanting others in the house to hear, he guided her by her elbow further into the room and closed the door. Not quite ready to look at her, Sam strode over to a dark lamp and busied himself with lighting it. He was trying desperately to think of an excuse that didn’t reveal too much about what he was about to do.

“Is this about your father?” she asked, voice quiet with concern. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, still not able to look back and meet her gaze. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Tracing the tense line of Sam’s neck and shoulders with her eyes, Jess stepped closer and probed, “Your brother said something about him being on some kind of hunting trip?”

Sounding as nonchalant as he could, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, yeah, just hunting buffalo. I’m riding out with Dean to bring him back…”

“What about classes?”

“Don’t worry,” Sam said, finally recognizing just how worried she sounded. He left the rucksack to turn and gather her up in his arms. “This is only for a few days.”

Her skin radiated warmth. What he wouldn’t give to pull her into his bed and hold her until the sun came up. Curling her fingers into the front of his coat she asked, “You sure you’re alright? You’ve been acting strange lately and I just…”

Once again, he felt the ring in his pocket. Should he bite the bullet and give it to her? It wouldn’t be strange that he was asking for them to be promised mates. At least not to her. She never seemed worried about the fact that he might present as Omega and they would never be together. It was like she could see into his soul to the Beta that he hoped was there.

He pulled her in close, one hand curling around the small of her back. Leaning down, he pressed his nose into the crook of her neck, right where she dabbed her perfume in the mornings and right where her Omega scent would be strongest. It smelled like peonies and honeysuckle warmed in the heat of a summer’s day. Sam imagined that that was what her Omega scent was like. Jess trembled against him, but not in fear. She tilted her head to give him better access and clung to his solid frame like she would tumble away without him.

“Everything is going to be alright.” he murmured, lips dragging across her skin slightly as he spoke. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Her body temperature rose again as she let out a small whimper of desire. Despite wanting nothing more than to take her right then and there, Sam couldn’t help but think about his brother waiting. The quicker he found his father, the quicker he could come back and put his life as a bounty hunter behind him once more. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

Heavily lidded eyes and flushed cheeks greeted him as he held her at arm’s length. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. He felt his semi-hard erection stir in his pants at the sight.

“Be safe,” she muttered, blinking her lust away as she stepped back.

Sam nodded hollowly, not trusting his voice at the moment.

Taking up her candle, she slipped out of his room, her skirts rustling like dried leaves. Sam listened to the sound of her heels clicking softly against the worn wood floorboards as she made her way to her own room. Adjusting himself in his pants, he cleared his throat and turned back to his rucksack.


	2. Chapter II

~ 0 ~

By the time Sam reached the stables, the Stanford nightlife was just starting to get into full swing. One saloon that he passed had a pair of drunken brawlers in the center of a circle of spectators. Judging from the lack of Beta power coming from them, he surmised that the fight was more for sport than dominance. Thankfully no one paid much mind to the tall man skirting their group, and he was able to make it to where Dean waited.

At first Sam couldn’t locate his brother and for one second he wondered if he’d been left behind. But then he heard Dean’s soft voice muttering kind words to Baby from inside the stables. As Sam entered, he noticed his brother’s hand immediately go to his side. His fingers danced over the pistol at his hip, only to freeze when he recognized who entered. Flashing him a grin, Dean smoothly transitioned into hooking his thumb in his belt.

Wondering where the stable keeper was, Sam walked over to his horse and started the process of saddling up. While Dean went over his mount with a critical eye Sam asked, “So who was Pa after? Why didn’t you go with him?”

The shorter of the two started rummaging around in his saddle bag while shooting the other a scalding look, “I was tracking down my own rogue in New Orleans.”

Sam’s brow shot up skeptically as he asked, “Pa let you get a bounty on your own?”

Sniffing defiantly, Dean replied, “I’m old enough.”

The taller one waited for his brother to turn away before rolling his eyes.

“Here we are!” Dean exclaimed, finally withdrawing his hand with what looked like a stack of tattered letters and newspaper clippings. Smoothing out a number of them on top of Sam’s saddle, he pointed at the topmost one.

Looking up from tightening a strap, Sam skimmed over the heading of the clipping from the ‘Jericho Herald’ that read: Centennial Railway Disappearances. Dated two months prior on September 19th, 1880. There was more. Something about a Mr. Andrew Carey going missing. But Dean slapped down another paper from even further back in April. More and more missing persons cases going back to February 1878, about a dozen over the last two years. One of the clippings mentioned a bounty issued by the Sherriff in a place called Moores Flat.

“Disappearances started picking up again, so Pa went to see about it.” Dean explained, taking the papers and stuffing them once again in the saddle bag. “That was a little over a fortnight ago.”

Sam finished getting his horse geared up and nodded to Dean silently to let him know he was ready to head out. Without missing a beat, Dean swung up into his saddle, tugging a letter out of his inside left breast pocket. He handed it over to Sam before steering Baby toward the road out of town, calling over his shoulder, “I hadn’t heard anything from him until I picked that up from the post office a couple days ago.”

Tapping at his horse’s sides with the heels of his boots, he let the stallion trail after Dean’s mare while he opened the letter and read the smudged – slightly water damaged – familiar scrawl that was John Winchester’s handwriting:

_D.W.,_

_…something big happening…need…figure out what’s going on. It may…be very careful...we’re all in danger._

_J.W._

“You said you got this from the post office? Did anyone recognize you?” Sam asked.

“As a matter of fact, someone did,” Dean smirked. “Nice to know you haven’t turned into a complete tenderfoot yet.”

Their horses’ hooves became muffled as they reached the last of the cobblestone streets. Only a dusty dirt road was ahead of them now. Sam shot his brother an annoyed look, silently telling him to get along with explaining.

“Got a tail as soon as I picked up the letter,” Dean continued, still smirking. “Shook ‘em easy enough, circled around, and followed them back to a town called Jericho. All we gotta do is find their hideout, bust in guns blazing, and get Pa out.”

A shock of apprehension ran through Sam suddenly, electrifying and chilling his core at the same time. He thought of Jessica waiting for him. Worried that he might not come back. This kind of _business_ his family was so intricately woven into was dangerous. One of the last hunts that Sam went on before leaving, Dean had gotten hurt pretty bad. A stray bullet caught him in the shoulder. A few more inches down and it would have hit his heart and he would have been dead before he hit the ground.

Noticing his brother’s sudden quiet state of panic, Dean turned in his saddle and raised his brow questioningly. Sam swallowed hard past the thickness in his throat and said, “I have to be back in six days.”

“What’s in six days?”

“I have…I start law school.”

“Law school, huh?” Dean smirked.

Unfortunately, Sam didn’t notice the twinkle of pride in the corner of his brother’s eye. Instead, he turned away and asked gruffly, “We got an accord?”

~ 0 ~

It took them most of the night and the next day to ride out to Jericho where Dean had tracked the person that had been tailing him. A town that sprouted up overnight about a decade ago as hundreds of people flooded the area searching for gold in the hills. It boasted close to one hundred people, a general store, hotel, church, and saloon. Perhaps not for much longer however; gold was running low and people were starting to leave.

Dean sang the whole way. Loudly. It took all of Sam’s patience not to shoot him.

“Would you at least sing something that isn’t twenty years old?”

The dirty blonde just kept on singing. Louder.

Sam rolled his eyes and called, “At least quiet down when we get to town.”

The Winchester brothers sauntered along a lonely, dusty road a couple hours later. They had a little way yet until they got to town, but as they came around a bend, they heard the sound of multiple voices. Dean held out his arm to Sam and pulled back on his reigns, “Hold up.”

“I see ‘em,” Sam acknowledged. “Looks like half a dozen lawmen.”

Both could see the glint of badges in the late morning light. They hopped down from their horses and pulled them off to the side. Wiping at his sweating brow, Sam asked, “Think we can ask them what’s going on? Looks like whoever Pa is after might have done this.”

The eldest Winchester glanced over to his saddlebag on Baby like he may have something there that could help. Tipping back the brim of his hat, he grinned and said, “Got some shiny badges just like they do.”

Sam groaned.

“What, you got a better idea, tenderfoot?”

After some choice curse words muttered under his breath, Sam begrudgingly nodded.

As Sam straightened his clothing and pinned the badge to his chest, Dean went to the other side of his horse and dug around in the saddle bag. After a moment, he withdrew a pouch. Taking a pinch of the stuff inside he carefully folded it into the corner of his cheek, careful not to let his little brother see.

The duo shared a look before mounting up and heading over to the bridge. When they were in sight of the lawmen, they dismounted respectfully and strode over to where they stood gathered around a slaughtered horse. As they stood with their hands on their hips, one of the men called over the edge of the bridge to the river below and hollered, “Find anything?”

“No sir!”

Letting out a heavy sigh, the man who appeared to be the Sherriff looked back at one of the people next to him and asked, “Thoughts, Deputy?”

“Horse took a bullet to the head and left flank,” the woman commented, looking up from her kneeling position. “But there’s a lot of blood all over the saddle.”

By this time Sam and Dean were striding up like they belong there, tipping hats and being none-too-shy about flashing their badges on their chests.

“Think it’s Mr. Squire’s blood?”

The woman stood, clenching her jaw with displeasure as she nodded.

“Your sister’s courting the young man, ain’t she?”

The woman’s expression grew dark as she said, “Yes sir. Planning on mating and starting a pack of their own in three months’ time.”

The Sherriff let out a growl of frustration and the others around him cowered on instinct. Even Sam could feel the dominant power coming off of him. Dean slowed his steps and angled his body so it was slightly behind Sam’s. The taller brother doesn’t catch the strange movement.

The Sherriff does. Clearly in a sour mood he snarled, “And who are you?”

A shudder passed down Dean’s spine, but he managed to shake it off before anyone caught on. Clearing his throat, he put on the best uncaring swagger he could and flashed the badge on his jacket. The cocky action seemed to amuse the burly Sherriff and he calmed slightly.

“Ain’t you a little young to be Marshals?”

Sam swallowed hard but Dean just chuckled. A look of distrust crossed over the older man’s face as he took a step closer toward the Winchesters. They both stiffened as the Sherriff scented them. Dean in particular averted his eyes and tried hard not to pull away. Feeling his brother’s distress, Sam shot him a questioning look.

“You _are_ young.”

The Deputy also tested the air and commented, “You haven’t even presented yet. And you: your scent is…faint.”

“Makes my Pa disappointed, that does.” Dean laughed. A small drop of sweat rolled down his temple. Trying to change the subject, he cleared his throat, nodded to the dead horse and asked, “You have another one like this, right? ‘Bout a month ago?”

Dean stepped around the dead horse, shooting the Sherriff a questioning look.

Crossing his arms over his chest the Sherriff nodded, “That’s right. Mile up the road or so.”

“Why you got any interest in this, Marshals? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The Deputy didn’t seem as swayed by Dean as the Sherriff. Her intense eyes were still narrowed.

Sam cleared his throat, “We’ve been tracking a bandit group through the area. Any word in town about those kinds of characters?”

“You think this was senseless murder and not a mate duel?” Sherriff asked carefully, circling the horse opposite the Winchesters. “If you think there’s a killer threatening my town, I have a right to know.”

“There may be connections,” Sam answered evasively.

“Like what?” the Deputy asked, clearly not convinced by the youngsters.

“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Dean answered sarcastically. Sam immediately stomped on his foot. Suppressing a cry of pain, Dean shot Sam a look before adding, “ _Ma’am_.”

She snarled, but was cut off by the Sherriff. He rounded on her, giving her a warning of his own. To show that she wasn’t trying to challenge him, she lowered her head and let out a bitter whine. Feeling like they may be overstaying their welcome, Sam and Dean silently decided to hit the road.

“Thank you for your time, Sherriff. We’ll keep in touch.” Sam muttered, backing away slowly with Dean in tow.

The boys headed down the main road of Jericho on their horses less than an hour later, keeping their hats tipped low over their eyes. They didn’t want to alert the townsfolk to the fact that they were there looking for someone, _yet_. Small towns like this, everyone knew everyone and soon dirty laundry was aired for all to see. As far as anyone would know for now, they were just two drifters passing through on their way to the frontier. Catching Sam’s eye, Dean jerked his head toward a nearby hitching post. Following his brother’s lead, Sam steered his horse toward it.

Swinging down from his saddle, Dean grunted, “This is about as far as I got before.”

“Alright, let’s ask around.” Sam mumbled, glancing at the townsfolk going about their day. “ _Quietly_.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he tied off the reigns. Adjusting his gun belt on his hips he took in a large breath and asked, “Right, start off civilized or go in for the unsavory first?”

“We should go unsavory first. Civilized folk never got any answers.”

Dean chuckled, “True. Couldn’t tell a possum from an ass, most of ‘em.”

They set off down the main road in the direction of the local saloon. Sam tipped his hat for a couple Omegas and their chaperone as they passed, earning a respectful bob of their head in return. Dean kept his hat low and adjusted the kerchief around his neck. He never was one for towns, but in the years since Sam had been gone, it seemed he’d gotten even worse. Sam glanced at him curiously.

“Howdy boys,” a sweet voice called from up the road, stopping Sam from questioning his brother. “You look like you could use a good time.”

The pair glanced up and saw a small group of women and men dressed in risqué clothes. One cracked a fan open and stepped forward boldly, smiling with more than just her mouth as she eyed them boldly up and down, “My mistake… _men_.”

“Ma’am,” Sam answered politely.

“Can’t you see you’re barking up the wrong tree Clarabelle?” a young man leaning against the wall close by asked with a sudden over exaggerated gasp. “This man’s escorting an Omega. That’s more fulfilling than spending any amount of time with the likes of us.”

The pair froze. Sam’s brows drew together in confusion as he struggled to process what had just been said. What Omega? Dean’s jaw dropped open in abject horror. The prostitute, smirking, pushed off the wall and slunk over to the shorter of the two and leaned in, testing the air around his neck curiously.

Plucking at Dean’s jacket sleeve he rumbled, “It’s been a while since I got to spend any _alone time_ with an Omega. Wouldn’t mind trying it again. What do you say, handsome?”

Something in the man’s demeanor shifted. Like he wasn’t asking, but telling. Sam bristled, unable to feel the effect the low-ranking Beta was having on Dean, but well-able enough to know what must be going on.

Dean jerked away from the man’s touch but didn’t move, or tell him to fuck himself. He seemed rooted to the spot. An intense blush began creeping up the back of his neck to his ears. Sam had never seen his brother act like this before. Like…like an _Omega_. Instantly Sam’s defensiveness doubled. A low growl came from deep in his throat as his hand went instinctually to the gun at his side. The prostitute noticed and immediately fell back; hands held up non-threateningly.

“Easy there, cowboy. Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

He sauntered off back to his wall. The others started chiming in, but all Sam wanted was to get Dean away so he could get some answers. Gripping his brother by the elbow, Sam strode purposefully to the end of the porch and made a sharp right into the nearby alley. Whoops and hollers followed after them, clearly thinking Sam was about to assert his authority over his Omega after getting riled up by jealousy. They looped around back so no one could hear them.

“What the hell, Dean?”

The older brother’s green eyes wouldn’t raise higher than Sam’s chest. He shuffled from foot to foot for a moment before mumbling angrily, “You didn’t need to know…”

“Didn’t need to – Jesus, Dean you’re an _Omega_! Of course, I needed to know.”

Dean hung his head, but struggled not to do so. His true, biological nature was clashing with the conditioning both brothers had been brought up with. Sam couldn’t imagine what that had been doing to him. They stood silently, unsure of what to say while their emotions continued to run high.

“What’d Pa say?” Sam asked softly. Despite not looking forward to the answer, he needed to know how Dean was doing with what must have been a terrible time.

Dean scuffed his boot on the ground, “Nothing pleasant.”

Ever since Sam could remember, their Pa had drilled them with survival, fighting, and the notion that a person’s worth was found in what they presented as. Sam and Dean were expected to be Betas. The best of all of them. That’s what John Winchester was. Anything less was dangerously vulnerable. It was what Pa blamed for Mama’s death, second only to the bastard that killed her.

“Is that why you came to get me? ‘Cause you needed someone to chaperone you?”

“No!” Dean said defiantly, finally meeting Sam’s eyes. “Don’t need that. I’ve been getting around plenty fine on my own with this.”

Digging around in his pocket for a moment, he withdrew a small leather pouch. Opening it, he showed Sam the cluster of roots inside. Pulling one out, Dean held it up for inspection and explained, “Chew one of these and it masks your scent.”

Sam didn’t even need to smell it to know what it was, Plumb Weed. Not its scientific name of course. He’d seen pictures and read accounts of it in one of his classes back at Stanford. Its original purpose was to dampen the scent of those who wished their heats to be less intense. And was outlawed quickly when people used it to trick weaker opponents into duels or mate battles. Contrarywise there was Apple Weed. Usually Alphas or dominant Betas would use it to heighten their scents and make them stronger which gave them an edge over other mates. Trouble was that some went too far and ended up taking too much, poisoning themselves. Some couldn’t recover and ended up going mad.

Angling his body to block the pouch from being seen from the main thoroughfare, Sam hissed, “That’s against the law.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Dean stuck the root in his mouth, once again avoiding his brother’s disapproving gaze as he stuffed the packet away. He kept his hands there while he chewed distractedly and mumbled, “Just so you know…I didn’t ask you along only ‘cause I needed a…a _chaperone_.”

Sam crossed his arms, still struggling with bringing his stress levels down. The shorter of the two seemed to notice and felt the urge to bare his neck to his brother. To show him that he was truly sorry. But the root was starting to do its job and he was able to ignore the feeling. He shook his head slightly and continued, “I missed you, Sammy. I really do want you here. You’re one of us.”

“No, Dean, I’m not.” Sam countered, faster than he intended. It came out harsh. Clearing his throat, he explained, “My life is at Stanford, not living out of my saddle.”

The subtle shift of Dean’s shoulders didn’t go unnoticed. He hunched slightly like a wounded animal. It hurt Sam to see, but he wasn’t going to back down from his decision. And he certainly wasn’t going to insult his brother’s pride by mentioning it.

“Pa and his crusade ain’t my responsibility. Shouldn’t be yours either. Especially not now.” Sam continued, getting even more heated. “Hell, if it weren’t for that picture or the stories you told me, I wouldn’t even know what Mama was like. I mean, even if we do hunt down the bastard that killed her, she ain’t comin’ back.”

All of a sudden, the ferociousness in Dean Sam remembered from childhood boiled up. Moving quicker than Sam could react to, Dean caught his collar and shoved him up against the back of the building they stood by. Dean bared his teeth close to Sam’s neck. This was the kind of thing that had Sam so confused about why his brother presented the way he did.

Realizing what he was doing, Dean slowly released his brother after a long pause and warned, “Don’t talk about her like that…”

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek before nodding.

“Listen…I’ll look after you Dean, but as soon as we find Pa, I’m going back.”

Dean shot him a nasty glare before spitting, “I don’t need looking after, Sam.”

Their shoulders collided as he stomped off back to the main road.

“I’ll go talk to the bartender at the saloon, see if he’s heard anything. You go and find other people to bother.” He snapped before disappearing out of sight.

The younger Winchester thought about stopping him. Dean was an Omega after all. If anyone figured that out like that prostitute had, they’d haul him off. His instincts were telling him to follow his brother. But his head was urging him to get to business; the faster he found John Winchester, the faster he could get back to Stanford and Jessica.

Sighing, Sam took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair before heading to the central road. He caught sight of Dean’s tense shoulders just as he flung open the swinging doors of the saloon and stepped inside the darkened interior. Trying to ignore the twisting in his gut, Sam made his way to the other side of the road. As he scanned the people and shops, he passed the prostitutes. The male from before that had sniffed out Dean as an Omega stood further away from the group, eyes following the brothers as he spoke softly to a man standing in the shadows.

After a moment, the flash of coin passed between them and the mysterious man strode purposefully toward the saloon. The younger Winchester was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice.

It didn’t take long for Sam to find a young woman standing outside the general store mournfully hanging up missing posters that read: _Missing, Troy Squire_.

Stepping up cautiously, Sam removed his hat and asked, “You must be Mr. Squire’s fiancé?”

“Yes,” she answered, turning red-rimmed eyes on the brunette beside her. “Who might you be?”

Sam tilted his head, baring his scent to her, “Sam.”

She didn’t even bother scenting him, or commenting on the fact that he was being improper by not giving her his full name. She seemed dazed. Noticing this, another young woman strode over protectively and growled at Sam. Trying not to anger her he made his neck even more accessible and said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me asking a couple questions.”

The bottom edge of a nearby missing poster flapped gently in the breeze as the two young women regarded the tall man. Eventually, they both agreed to speak. The pair went to a nearby wooden bench and sat. After explaining that he was a Marshal, Miss Amy Hein took a deep breath and started telling him about the last time she saw Troy.

“He walked me back home, then rode off on his horse…said he’d come back in the morning to take me to market, but…never showed up.”

“Was he acting peculiar?”

Amy shook her head, sniffling delicately.

Her friend, Miss Rachel Barrow, brought up a handkerchief and rubbed the other’s back as she added, “It’s just…there’s been a number of folks that have gone missing recently. People talk.”

“What do they talk about?” Sam asked instantly, interest perked.

“A local legend,” Rachel continued, careful to keep her voice calm and impartial for the sake of her grieving friend. “She terrorizes the roads outside of town when she’s got a mind to.”

Sam’s face remained neutral despite the excitement roiling inside of him. He nodded, letting her know that it was fine to continue.

“Supposedly she’s come back to get vengeance.”

“What for?”

“Old Joseph Welch was married to her. If you want to know more, you should go ask him. All I know is that every few months her ghost comes back to Jericho.”

Amy ducked her head, fresh tears coursing down her face. Rachel put her arm around her shoulders and tugged her friend in close. Sam caught the dismissive glance from Rachel and decided to take his leave quietly.

_A ghost?_

Dean shoved at the saloon’s doors and stepped in, still fuming from what Sam had just said. That anger was not easily hidden on his face, but he could tell it helped establish an uneasy tone with the other patrons of the saloon as he slammed the swinging doors wide. They didn’t look like the worst crowd, but they certainly weren’t the best either. The dirty blonde strode up to the bar top and barked out an order for whiskey. The barkeep didn’t even bother scenting him.

“You know anything about bandits in the area?” Dean asked, flashing his Marshal badge.

The barkeep, a portly woman with close-cropped curly hair, smoothly placed a glass down on the counter in front of Dean before glancing warily at the copper pinned on the inner lining of his coat. After a moment, she leaned in close and muttered, “’Course. You’re talkin’ ‘bout the Woman in White.”

Dean quirked his brow.

Leaning over the counter so her mouth was less than a foot from his ear she continued, “You’ll be wantin’ to share some words with Mr. Joseph Welch. Just over there. She’s his wife.”

The level of honesty from the bartender surprised Dean and brought down his level of anger considerably. After a moment, he withdrew his billfold and slapped a dollar note down as thanks before downing the contents of his glass. Letting out a grunt of appreciation, he pushed off and sauntered over to the morose looking man slumped in the darkest corner of the saloon.

“Pardon me, are you Joseph Welch?”

Giving Dean a cursory glance, Joseph grumbled, “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

Even though the other was currently slouching in the rickety wooden chair across the table, Dean could tell that he was easily a foot taller than the old man and at least thirty pounds heavier. Not to mention a good twenty years younger. It wasn’t like the oldest Winchester was worried about it. Checking out the people in a room came as more a force of habit now that he had to consider what it meant being an Omega. In answer, Dean pulled out a chair opposite and raised his brows, asking quietly if he could sit.

Joseph nodded after a moment of consideration.

“I’m wondering if you might happen to know this man?”

Pulling out a well-worn sepia toned photograph of John Winchester, Dean slid it across the stained table between them. The man picked it up, holding it at arm’s length to counteract his bad eyesight. After careful consideration Joseph nodded, “Yeah, I know him. Came ‘round a while ago. Said he was a newspaper man.”

“He working on a story?”

“As a matter of fact,” Joseph answered. “Damn city folk ain’t got no sense if you ask me.”

“Why you say that?”

Joseph narrowed his eyes as he asked, “Who you say you was again?”

Tugging at his jacket, he pulled it back enough to reveal the fake badge pinned there. The flash of metal seemed to placate Joseph because he continued, “Askin’ me all sorts of questions about my wife Constance. Where she was buried. Improper things...”

Ash blonde brows drew together in confusion as Dean asked, “Why would he ask that?”

“She’s dead.”

“Dead?”

The younger of the two couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. Joseph caught on.

“You been talkin’ with those gossips at the general store, haven’t you?” he asked, jabbing an accusing finger in Dean’s direction.

Despite the Plumb Weed in his system, Dean could still feel the urge to cower away from the ferociousness behind the man’s words. Taking in a steadying breath, he waited a beat for the feeling to pass before saying, “No, sir. I only intended to share in your…pain.”

Joseph didn’t look convinced.

“The man that interviewed you is a slippery son of a gun. I wouldn’t put it past him to capitalize on someone’s grief.” Dean continued; glad Sam wasn’t there to hear him.

The older man heard the truth in Dean’s words and relaxed. After a moment Dean hollered over to the bartender for a round of whiskeys for the table. Joseph nodded his head in appreciation. Neither spoke while they waited for their drinks. When she poured Dean’s, he muttered for her to leave the bottle and handed her another dollar. Mildly surprised, she pocketed the money obligingly.

“To staying a respectful distance from people’s business.” Dean offered, raising his glass.

The pair drank them down in one go.

“Constance was the love of my life,” Joseph confessed sadly after the sting of alcohol faded. “Prettiest woman I ever known…”

“Happy marriage?”

It didn’t escape Dean’s notice that the man hesitated. Without waiting for the man to convince himself not to talk, Dean leant forward and topped off the man’s glass. They shared another drink. Wiping at his mouth Joseph continued, “Not as much. She was a wild sort. Didn’t much like being cooped up at home with the children.”

“How’d she pass?” Dean asked, careful to keep his excited curiosity out of his voice. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

Silently, Joseph held out his glass. Dean obliged. After downing the contents of his third free glass, the man’s eyes looked a bit glassy. Rubbing at his tired face he grumbled, “She got real…down, after…after…well, one day she rode to the bridge just outside of town and…jumped in the river.”

_Did they ever find her body? Cause she can’t be dead if she’s out and about killing people._

Dean watched Joseph carefully for any tells. If they’d been playing Texas hold ‘em, Dean could have swept the rug out from under him. Every twitch was filled with guilt.

_There’s no way I’m getting the whole truth._

“Sorry to hear that, partner.” Dean said, not wanting to push his luck. “I’ll leave you to your business, but…you happen to know where that story-spinner went after giving you a hard time?”

Joseph shook his head, looking like he wanted nothing more than to find the bottom of a bottle. Dean stood and slid the last of the whiskey over with a look that said he was sorry for drudging up old pains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you that commented! It's so nice feeling like I'm not shouting into the void. (What's up Cmccle01? :D)  
> And I have to apologize for being SO bad at this website! I feel like a baby deer learning how to walk. (Love you LittleRedDragon) lol  
> I'm having a blast writing this! More so than I thought I would! We'll get into the shmexy stuff soon, I promise! (I get so embarassed when I write that stuff ;p)But I'm curious what you think about Dean being an Omega! I've seen him as an Alpha in other stories, but I felt like him being an Omega worked better for the narrative I was going for. (Here's lookin' at you reader123)  
> I've decided that Dean/Sam is definitely not my thing, so that won't be in this story.  
> Awesomelypathetic commented about triggers and I'm not gonna lie, I'm not sure how to be aware of those. If anyone has any advice or articles I can read, please let me know! I wanna make sure y'all are comfortable!  
> Anyway, love you all! Stay happy! And see you next time! <3


	3. Chapter III

The oldest Winchester stumbled out of the saloon, the toe of his boot catching on an uneven floorboard as he did. Others around him made comments behind hands but he ignored them. One of the patrons from inside followed him out. As Dean stood blinking in the suddenly bright light the patron slipped behind him, lifting his nose to get a better angle on scenting. As a couple walking arm in arm skirted around the slightly intoxicated Winchester that blocked their path, the mysterious patron left unnoticed, heading up the main thoroughfare toward the jailhouse.

Around this time Sam saw his brother and went to meet him.

Dean glowered as Sam came up. The taller of the two instantly noticed the slightly unsteady nature of the other’s stance and asked incredulously, “Are you drunk?”

“Obviously not enough if you’re still getting on my bad side.”

Sam rolled his eyes, taking off in the direction of the town hotel. Hopefully there was still a room available this late in the day. The pair made their way across the street, avoiding eye contact with each other. Inside, a tired looking man greeted them, blinking heavily lidded eyes.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked, slowly sliding the hotel ledger closer.

“We need a room,” Sam answered. “ _Two_ beds.”

If the man had any thoughts about the two, he didn’t show it, merely pushed the ledger forward and asked them to sign their names. Sam did, writing down one of his old aliases with not too much of a second thought. He dug around in his pockets for his billfold while Dean signed his own name.

As Dean shoved the book back, the tired man blinked down once before blinking up at the shorter of the two and asking, “You any relation to a Burt Aframian?”

The pair froze. Dean glanced between his brother and the name he’d written in the ledger and asked, “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Nothin’ much,” the man shrugged. “More curiosity on my part.”

The man blinked slowly, falling silent. Dean shot a look at Sam that said: ‘ _what the hell_?’

“Right,” Sam muttered, taking the key the man had placed on the counter. “He staying here or something?”

“Huh? Oh, sure is. Rented out one of the rooms for a whole month.”

“You see him today?” Dean asked, doing a decent job at hiding his excitement.

The man rubbed at the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, “Nah…matter of fact, I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

The brothers exchanged looks once again before taking their key and heading up the nearby flight of stairs. On the second-floor landing, Dean leaned in close and whispered to Sam, “There were only a couple keys missing, let’s check the rooms out, see which one good ol’ Burt was staying in.”

Sam nodded, face serious. Dean took the lead. The first door they checked was occupied by two people arguing. Loudly. Seemed like one of them had just made a poor deal on some cattle. The next door was quiet when they pressed ears to it. Dean knocked experimentally but no one answered. As Dean reached into his coat pocket, Sam angled his large body to block the view of what he was about to do from the hallway. Withdrawing his small packet of lockpicking tools, Dean took one look at his brother before shoving it into his chest with a smirk.

“What?”

“You do it.” Dean insisted, still smirking.

Sam rolled his eyes. Typical of his big brother to test him. Snatching the tools, Sam bent over and grumbled, “Keep a look out.”

After a little less than a minute of fiddling, the door swung open with a subtle creek.

“Still got it.” Sam smirked.

He turned to give Dean a sly look when he noticed Dean hadn’t even noticed they were in. Sam snagged the back of Dean’s collar and dragged him into the room, shutting them in quickly. Dean tugged himself free, shooting Sam a dirty look before the pair looked around in awe at the collage of newspaper clippings and wanted posters on the wall. It was similar to what Dean had been carrying around in his saddlebag, but greater in scope.

“Whoa,” Sam muttered, inspecting the piles of papers littering the wardrobe underneath the wall collage.

The blonde sauntered over to the bedside table where a half-eaten chicken leg lay. Picking it up, he took an experimental sniff and recoiled.

“Definitely hasn’t been here for a while.”

Sam nodded, holding up a grungy bandana and case of bullets, “Seems he was worried.”

“He should have been,” Dean answered, striding over to another wall covered in clippings. Jerking his thumb at a black and white picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman he continued, “Apparently she’s supposed to be dead.”

“You heard that too?”

“Yeah, straight from her widower.”

The pair peered at the papers for a while, trying to figure out what the random murders meant. She was killing indiscriminately.

“I don’t get it. I mean, different Betas. Men and women…there has to be a connection.”

While Dean talked, Sam continued pouring over the documents their father had collected. Two in particular that caught his eye mentioned the fact that the murderess was going by the name Woman in White, the other mentioned that a Woman in White ghost was traditionally one that died tragically and haunted their spouse if they were unfaithful. Nearby was one last article that talked about the unfortunate drowning at a local pond that claimed the lives of the two young Welch children.

“Pa figured it out.” Sam breathed.

Dean whirled, going to his brother’s side. Pointing out the names and the article, Sam continued, “You said Constance’s husband said she killed herself after something bad happened, right?”

“Shit, those her kids?” Dean asked, taking up said article that mentioned them. “Maybe after she found out her husband was being unfaithful, she killed them?”

“It fits why she would pick a name like Woman in White as her calling card. And the date of their drowning is close to when she threw herself in the river.”

“Well, damn!” Dean grinned, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Why don’t you see if you can find Joseph Welch’s address, and I’ll go get us some provisions?”

As the shorter of the two started toward the door, Sam turned and called, “Hey, Dean?”

Dean paused, hand gripping the doorknob and looked over his shoulder curiously.

“What I said earlier about Mom and…and you presenting the way you did…I’m sorry.”

Dean held up his hand, stopping Sam from going any further, “No time for sappy moments, Sammy.”

Noticing the quirk of the corner of his brother’s mouth, Sam nodded and laughed, relieved that Dean wasn’t one for grudges when it came to family. Still smiling and shaking his head as Dean slipped out into the hall, Sam turned back to the room. A familiar black and white photograph caught his eye and he strode over to it. Tugging it from under a pile of other papers Sam realized it was a photo of John Winchester looking about 15 years younger. Child Dean stood at his side; one hand posed on his father’s shoulder. Child Sam sat on his father’s lap. All had identical blank expressions on their faces.

The youngest Winchester remembered taking this. It was one of the few times John had taken them into a town. Sam and his brother had been so happy. John even bought them some penny sweets from the local general store. The sugar had helped glue his mouth shut for the photo that they had to sit still for. It was a good memory.

Sam smiled sadly.

Chewing on a piece of jerky as he crossed the street toward the hotel, Dean squinted against the late afternoon light. The unusual autumn heat was driving people inside. In fact, the only ones who remained on the baking street was Dean hurrying through the dust, and a small posse under an awning near the hotel. Dean’s chewing slowed as he took in the look they were giving him. He’d been around enough people to know the look of a Beta eyeing an Omega.

Recognition flashed through his mind as he noticed one of the men as the prostitute that’d smelled him out as an Omega earlier. Instantly the hairs on Dean’s arm’s and neck stood up. He tried keeping his cool, but as soon as the group noticed him drawing closer, they moved to cut him off at the hotel’s entrance. The jig was up. Sidestepping away from them, Dean caught the glint of badges on their coats.

_I have to let Sam know_. The blonde thought, frantically casting around in his mind for any and all ideas on how to do that.

Grateful that it was quiet out, Dean hollered loudly, “Problem Deputies?”

The Deputy that the older Winchester pissed off earlier on the bridge was among the group. As she closed in, she called back, “Where’s your partner, _Omega_? Doesn’t he know you’re not supposed to go off on your own?”

“Partner?” Dean wondered ironically. “What partner?”

The Deputy followed Dean back out into the road, her eyes flashing with the promise of pain. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the hotel. The other man took the hint and headed off to find Sam.

Quirking his head to the side, Dean flashed her a cocky grin and said, “You wanna get to know me better, all you gotta do is ask, darlin’.”

She snarled, eyes flashing with Beta power as she pulled a pair of handcuffs from her side. Dean shuddered at the sight, surprising himself. He took the root earlier, so her influence shouldn’t have such an effect on him, unless… _shit_. When was the last time he had a heat? A thin sheen of sweat developed on his brow and he became acutely aware of the sun beating down on his shoulders.

“Surrender, or I’ll have to get rough with you.”

Trying to blink away his unsteadiness, Dean slowly drew his six-shooter from the holster on his hip. He did it without hesitating, feeling her Beta power pulse through his body. Making sure to show her that he wasn’t going to try anything, he tossed it into the dirt and put his arms up, thinking that if she got close enough, he could try a cheap shot and make a run for it. Cautiously, the Deputy stepped closer.

“Don’t move.” She ordered, reminding Dean of the faint weakness in his legs.

Picking up his pistol, she tucked it into her waistband before closing in on the Winchester. Without warning, she balled her hand into a fist and jabbed it into the bridge of his nose. He staggered back, trying to clear the stars from his vision. She followed, grabbing him by the collar with one hand while the other started patting him down. Dazed, he didn’t react fast enough before she found the pouch of contraband in his pocket.

“What’s _this_?” she asked, brows nearly disappearing into her hairline as she tugged the small bag free.

He so desperately wanted to say something quippy, but with his head still spinning he couldn’t think. Instead, he decided on his previous idea: clock her then skedaddle. It was unfortunate though that his arms seemed to react two seconds later than he intended. She didn’t see his first hit that landed right on her left chin, but she definitely saw the second. As he tried landing the punch, her hand shot up and caught his fist. In an instant, she bent his wrist the wrong way, sending him to his knees.

With a look of surprise on her face, she brought her knuckles down on Dean’s cheekbone. His vision went black as his body collapsed. After clearing his vision, he caught sight of the Deputy sniffing him curiously. But before he could get back on his feet, or react at all, she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. He let out a grunt of blind pain just as his face met the dirt.

Dean realized what an embarrassingly quick fight that had been as he heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. Trying not to suck in a lungful of dust, he spluttered and peered up at the newcomer. It was the other Deputy, the one that had gone into the hotel looking for Sammy. Dean laughed, coughing slightly as he realized that his brother must have given the guy the slip.

“No one there,” the Deputy said, confirming Dean’s suspicion.

In answer the other Deputy ground her boot into Dean’s back as she cuffed his hands together. Tossing the pouch of plumb weed to her associate she commented wryly, “Our ne’er do well got himself some contraband.”

He whistled, “Damn, boy, you’re just askin’ for a whoopin’!”

Dean tried to act cocky, but no one there thought much of his act. It was clear what he was. As they picked him up and hauled him off to the jailhouse, Dean hoped silently that his little brother hadn’t lost too much of his hunting skills while at Stanford.

If Sam hadn’t already been gazing out the window of their second story room thinking of Jessica, he may not have heard the commotion from below. Luckily, Dean’s loud voice caught his attention. His stomach dropped when he realized that his brother was being confronted by the law.

“Shit,” Sam muttered, snatching up what little belongings he and his brother had brought with them. They’d be coming for him next.

Moving quickly, Sam slipped out of the room and into the hall. He wouldn’t be able to make it around to the staircase before the law did, but luckily there was a window to his right. Shouldering it open, he slipped out and balanced precariously on the small ledge. Sliding ever so gingerly, the tallest Winchester edged toward a pile of crates at the end of the alley that reached high enough for him to jump down to safely. From inside he could hear someone smashing open a door.

Luckily Sam was able to escape without anyone spotting him. Looping around in the brush on the edge of town, he headed for the saloon. There he could hopefully find someone that could tell him where Joseph Welch lived, which would then hopefully lead to John. He was going to have to think about what to do for Dean.

Dean’s legs trembled slightly as he gripped the bars of his cell. It wasn’t because he was scared. Far from it. He’d tangled with the law many times over the years. But it was different now after presenting. The scents coming off the Betas in the room was enough to put him on edge. They didn’t like him. His mind ran wild with what they might do.

_Fuck, when was my last heat?_ He asked himself, casting back into his mind as he recognized the signs; cold sweat, weakness, fogged mind.

Omega heats are the most pronounced out of the sexes. Some couldn’t even leave their homes during their time because of the effects on their bodies. Dean had heard stories about bloodbaths occurring because of an Omega’s heat. It was a big reason why it was illegal for Omegas to go out alone. Some Betas and Alphas couldn’t keep control of themselves if they got a whiff of a strong scent.

“You wanna give us your real name?” the Sherriff asked, sitting on the edge of the desk close to Dean’s cell.

“I told you: Enoch. Frederick Enoch.”

The woman Deputy growled, “I’m not sure you realize how much trouble you’re in, pretty boy.”

Trying to cover up the fact that his body was reacting against his will, Dean made a smooching face at her before answering, “Lots of folks have tried to get me to squeal…if you think you can do any better –”

“You’re an Omega traveling without a chaperone for one,” the Sherriff interrupted, his dominant powers flaring. “Which means that you can’t be a Marshal. So, impersonation for two. And carrying plumb weed for three. Should I continue?”

Dean’s jaw clenched.

“You got partners; we know that.” The Deputy chimed in, her eyes slowly roaming over Dean’s trembling body. “One of ‘em’s an older feller. The other one’s the sasquatch.”

“You the ones been killin’ my people?” A familiar leather-bound notebook slammed onto the desk next to the Sherriff as he stood and asked, “ _Dean_?”

“Where’d you get that?” Dean asked, eyes widening. That was Pa’s journal. _And how did you know my name?_

The pair of lawmen practically licked their lips as the Sherriff smirked, “Figured that was your name. See, I leafed through this _mess_ , and boy I gotta say, it’s nine-shades of crazy.”

Dean pressed against the bars of his cell; eyes fixed on the journal that never left his father’s side. He wasn’t even thinking that he was giving off a strong scent because of his heightened stress. But as soon as he got closer, the Deputy acting on instinct, reached through the bars. One hand wound tightly in the front of Dean’s shirt, the other started roaming hungrily down the Omega’s side toward his hip. He could practically feel her want.

“Why ain’t you mated yet?” she asked, only loud enough for Dean to hear.

He could see desire hiding just under her rage and feel it as her palm pressed closer to his groin.

“Deputy Hein!” the Sherriff barked angrily.

Her hands immediately released. She blinked as if she wasn’t sure what just came over her. Dean held back the urge to whine as the heat from her hands vanished. He immediately scolded himself for wanting to submit to his Omega instincts in this kind of a situation, but it didn’t change the fact that he was semi hard.

Pushing the Deputy to the side, the Sherriff opened the journal and slammed it up where Dean’s face had been moments before. Breathing heavily, Dean peered at the worn pages and saw his name clearly written next to a series of numbers: 39 104. The blonde was careful to keep his expression neutral.

Not satisfied with Dean’s lack of reaction, the Sherriff’s eyes flashed dangerously. He shot his Deputy a pointed look just before lunging forward. In an instant both Dean’s wrists had been snatched by the pair and locked in handcuffs. His arms were wrenched up and the other end of both handcuffs were secured on the bars above his head.

“What the –”

“You’re staying right here ‘till you tell me what I want to know.” The Sherriff growled, his nose almost brushing Dean’s. The man took in a long whiff of Dean’s scent. “If I’m not mistaken, your heat is comin’…I’ll get what I want from you then.”

It felt like Dean’s stomach collapsed into itself and dropped out of his body. He didn’t want to think it was true. Omegas went into heat about once every three months, regardless of whether or not they were mated. Pheromones were released that affected Alphas and Betas (more so Alphas) and an Omegas body would grow weak and sensitive.

Dean had already been through a few. The first one was when John was still around. It had been a shock to them both. Ultimately Dean had to learn to take care of himself on his own. His father hadn’t been very forthcoming about advice. Most recently, after finishing his solo bounty down in New Orleans, Dean had had to hunker down in an abandoned cabin for a few days eating way too much plumb weed and…taking care of himself. With his hands trapped above his head like they were now, he wouldn’t be able to alleviate any of the urges that were about to wash over him.

He hated that he was on Omega. Just thinking about how weak it made him was enough to send him into a sour mood. When he was in the middle of a heat it was agony. Anything that brushed against his skin felt like lightning running through his body all the way to his groin. And it didn’t go away easily. If he was alone, he would touch himself feverishly, barely able to get his hands to cooperate. It was hot and messy and humiliating.

Dean tugged at the handcuffs on his wrist. They were good ones. He wouldn’t be able to slip them. Chuckling smugly the Sherriff said, “New double-lock design from Tower Handcuffs. Ain’t gonna shim out of those.”

The flush of anger was creeping up Dean’s neck as he glared at the lawmen. Just his luck that the people in this sorry town were the first vigilant sons of bitches this side of the Mississippi. But they were wrong if they thought they were going to get anything out of him. Even if he was and Omega, his will was stronger.

“Shimming would make me a criminal, Sherriff.” Dean smirked. “And Omegas just don’t do that sort of thing…but of course you knew that already.”

The Sherriff’s energy shifted as soon as the words left dean’s mouth. It intensified alongside his anger. His scent was unmistakably Beta. High-ranking. Dean’s body reacted almost immediately. As did the Deputy’s. She barred her teeth and tipped her chin toward her chest exposing her neck submissively. Dean made a small noise in his throat as an intense shiver trickled down his spine; a mix of fear and anticipation. But not one to lose a coward’s game, Dean forced himself to remain as strong as possible and stared down his nose at the Sherriff defiantly.

“With a strong scent like that, how did you get stuck in this Podunk town?” the Winchester asked, slightly breathless. “You fuck the wrong person or something?”

“Disgraceful,” the Deputy muttered, only loud enough for Dean to catch.

Impressively, the Sherriff didn’t rise to the jab. Instead he closed John’s journal, set it on the desk and said dangerously, “What do the numbers mean? And mind yer cussin’, _Omega_.”

“Train number.”

_Bullshit_ , was written across the Sherriff’s face, but he wasn’t about to say it out loud.

The lawmen pressed Dean for answers for what felt like hours before the other Deputy from earlier came bursting into the jail. He was breathing hard like he’d been running.

“What is it Driscoll?” the Sherriff asked, his energy flaring again, this time in annoyance and concern.

The Deputy peered around at all the faces in the room before pointing back to the door and answering, “Folks heard gunshots and spotted a fire out by the Guthrie house.”

Working quickly, the three of them started fastening their gun belts to their hips. Glancing at Dean the Sherriff asked, “You gotta use the pot?”

He jerked his head in the direction of the dented pail in the corner of Dean’s cell.

“No.” Dean answered, his breath hot and close enough to the iron bars to make them steam up a little. His heat was close.

“Good,” Sherriff answered, placing his hat on his brow as he strode to the door. The other two fell in step behind him.

As soon as they were gone and the jailhouse fell quiet, Dean let out a shaky laugh and asked the air, “What took you, Sammy?”

It took him longer than he cared to admit, but eventually Dean was able to free himself from the cuffs with a shim that he had hidden in the lining of his coat. After biting it free he placed it in his hands and went to work. It felt good to get blood flow back into his fingers. Next, he got to work on the lock to his cell. An easy enough task for the experienced Winchester.

As soon as the door creaked open, he wasted no time scooping up his father’s journal and his gun belt before heading out into the darkened street.

Less than an hour passed before the brothers were reunited. Sam sat anxiously in his saddle waiting for Dean a little way off the road. He was close to three miles out of town to the south at a point they’d designated before getting into Jericho. Baby snuffled agitatedly as the crickets around them grew louder. Adjusting his grip on her reigns he mumbled, “I know…he should have gotten here by now.”

“Yeah, well, breaking out of jail isn’t as easy as it sounds.” Dean called, emerging from the darkness.

Sam grinned, relief flooding his features. Dean smiled back, trying not to look as exhausted as he felt. His heat was getting more intense, and the Deputy had dumped his plumb weed in the dirt in the center of town. There was nothing he could do to help ease the intensity unless he took the time to shut himself away. But that would involve telling Sam what was going on and leaving their father waiting for another day or two. Dean wasn’t sure he could look his little brother in the face and admit that.

Instead, he tugged his blanket free and wrapped it around his shoulders. It wasn’t ideal nesting, but it was better than nothing. All he needed was to get Pa and they could all leave this terrible place behind. Dean hauled himself into his saddle. Sam thought he should ask if his brother was okay, but he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to further jeopardize their rocky relationship.

The younger Winchester watched Dean struggle into his saddle, concern flashing across his face before he said, “Right…I found out where Joseph Welch lives and went to talk to him while you were _vacationing_ at the hoosegow. And, get this, I think I know where the Woman in White hides out.”

“Really? Where?”

“Mr. Welch mentioned that after his children and wife died, he abandoned their house and moved closer to town.”

Dean turned his green eyes on Sam’s hazel. Taking up Baby’s reigns he said, “Pa’s gone. He left Jericho.”

“What?” Sam asked incredulously, completely taken off-guard. “How do you know?”

“I wasn’t just vacationing in the hoosegow as you put it.” Dean sniffed. “I got his journal from the Sherriff.”

“It say anything important?”

“Where he’s going.” Dean answered, pulling out said leather-bound book and opening it to the page with his name and the numbers.

“Coordinates,” Recognizing the sequence, Sam’s eyes widened. “You know where?”

“Not sure. Need time, a map, and a watch to figure.”

“What is going on? Why would Pa run out in the middle of a hunt?”

“Had to be for something good.”

Moonlight from the half-moon filtered down from the sky through the sparse branches of the trees in the area, casting the low-lying brush of the surrounding hills in a cool grey. The pair studied each other, wondering their own separate questions. They were lost enough that the sound of a female voice coming down the lonely dusty road came as a complete shock.

“Take me home.” A petite, dark haired woman commanded darkly as she spurred her horse forward. The click of her gun sent a chill down both brothers’ spines.

More clicks came from all around them as their hands twitched in the direction of their pistols.

“Shit…” Dean groaned. They were surrounded.

The pair raised their hands in defeat as the Woman in White and her posse closed in. Sam’s heart was beating out of his chest, flashes of Jessica and his life back in Stanford going through his mind. Dean could feel the Beta energy coming from her, but something about it was wrong. Wild and twisted like a tumbleweed of razors. As he focused, he realized with a wrench of his gut what was wrong. Her Beta levels weren’t natural. It seemed she was one of those that had taken too much apple weed.

Dean glanced worriedly at Sam knowing that his little brother wouldn’t be able to tell based on scent. The older Winchester was glad that Sam had eyes though. Looking at her crazed expression and the dark spray of blood across the white dress she wore – even from this distance – you could tell something was wrong.

“I thought I smelled somethin’ good,” one of the posse called out, earning some laughs and whoops of approval. “Seems like we got ourselves an Omega in heat!”

Sam’s head whipped around to give Dean a horrified look. Dean couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead he called dangerously through gritted teeth, “Just try it, assholes.”

The cool touch of iron against his temple caused Sam’s body to freeze on instinct. All hopes of protecting his vulnerable brother were dashed as the Woman in White repeated, “Take me home.”

“Off the horse.” A man with grimy teeth ordered from Sam’s other side, motioning with his pistol.

The brunette did as he was told, still keeping his hands up. When he was on the ground, the same bandit tugged Sam’s own pistol from its holster. The others closest to Dean grabbed fistfuls of the blanket around the blonde’s shoulders and dragged him unceremoniously from Baby. Sam made a move to go to him, but was once again stopped by a pistol in the face.

“I believe the lady asked you for a favor.” The bandit said dangerously.

He was powerless to argue. Sam clenched his fists at his side, going through every option in his head before concluding that there was no way he could help his brother without either of them ending up dead. Regret in each step, Sam led the way down the road in the direction Joseph Walsh said his old house used to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy when Dean is an Omega. I like the juxtaposition. Anyway, thanks to all that commented and left kudos! I appreciate seeing each notification!!!  
> We're winding down the pilot episode. Next chapter will have some sexual assault in it at the beginning. I'll put up trigger warnings. Would a visual representation of where to skip to be helpful? Let me know.
> 
> Does anyone know how to get rid of the second set of notes on the chapters? I thought that was only for the first chapter? Sorry for being such a noob lol  
> **Edit: Thank you emmy250 for the help!!! Figured it out after a while!!! <3
> 
> Love you all! <3


	4. Chapter IV

The eldest Winchester watched morosely as his brother faded into the shadows of the night with the Woman in White and three goons in tow. Dean glanced from face to face at the bandits surrounding him. One, a woman, shoved a nearby compatriot and called, “I get him first, then y’all can breed him however you like!”

Whoops and hollers echoed out as they closed in. Dean widened his stance and put up his fists. He wasn’t going down without a fight, that much was for certain.

Just as the blanket slipped from his shoulders, the woman lurched toward him. His reflexes were dulled by his heat, but his stubborn determination was enough to sidestep her grasping fingers. Dean’s fist collided with her abdomen, earning him a soft grunt of pain. It wasn’t a powerful blow. His strength was fading by the second. Blinking in an effort to clear his eyes and mind, Dean staggered back from another hand trying to snatch the collar of his shirt.

“He’s a squirrely one!” one of the men hollered, wiping at the fresh cut on his lip that Dean bequeathed him. “That aint normal for an Omega in heat.”

“Shut it, Cleetus and grab him!” the woman snarled, eyes flaring with Beta energy.

Her fist collided with Dean’s jaw, making stars explode behind his eyelids. He nearly spun in a full circle as he went down. Dirt and dry grass exploded up from the ground as he collapsed face first. Coughing, he tasted the warm tang of iron on his tongue.

“That all you got?” he spat, trying to will his legs into cooperating.

Hands clamped down on his shoulders and wrenched him around. In the next instant, he was flat on his back with the bandit woman on top of him, grinding her pelvis into his own. A different shade of stars blinded Dean for a moment as he let out a gasp of pleasure. His dick immediately responded, twitching under her. She let out a satisfied cackle and ground down once more. The others cheered her on, shouting obscenities and encouragement.

Feeling powerful and in control, the woman – still gyrating on top of Dean – bent down enough so she could whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry darlin’, we’ll take _good_ care of you.”

Despite everything in his head telling him that this was the last thing he wanted, his body thought otherwise. The feel of another person touching him was like fire in dry brush. It roared up from his groin, making his head fuzzy. When she spoke into his ear, her hot breath ghosting across his sensitive skin, he whimpered wantonly. He could imagine it. The feeling of filling her. As he looked past her shoulder to the handful of men surrounding them, Dean noticed some already had their dicks in their hands, stroking as they watched the woman take advantage of him. And suddenly a different desire washed over him. Instead of filling, he was being filled.

“Fuck…!” Dean groaned, too weak to shove the woman off of him.

Her powerful thighs locked around his hips as she shoved two fingers into his mouth. Dean watched as the Beta power in her eyes began to steadily intensify, her irises glowing a sort of silvery white. Soon he wouldn’t be able to resist at all. He had to do something, fast.

The glint of moonlight off the gun in her holster caught Dean’s attention as he cast around for what to do. They figured he’d be too lost in lust to even think to grab it. Well, jokes on them. With his last bit of strength, he channeled it all into his arm. In a flash, his hand went to her hip, unholstered the six-shooter, and brought the muzzle up under her chin. The look of surprise on her face was burned into Dean’s vision as he squeezed the trigger. The bright flash of the bullet being fired nearly blinded him; it was so close to his face. Blood gushed down as the woman slumped over him dead.

High pitched ringing in his ear muffled the outraged cries of the men around him. But with their pants down they couldn’t do much by way of counter attack. Dean circled his arms around the woman in a sort of morbid hug and fired once, twice, five more times, emptying the cylinder. Bodies thudded to the ground one by one, but Dean’s finger kept squeezing the trigger. When the shock and adrenaline started wearing off, he took in a few deep, shuddering breaths before pushing the woman’s dead body off. Trembling all over, he stood.

“You…bottom-feedin’…hustler!” one of the bandits spat through a mouthful of blood, clutching uselessly at the steadily gushing bullet wound in the side of his neck as he tried scooting away.

Without speaking, Dean bent and snatched up the long, menacing knife from the dead woman’s belt. One foot after the other, he made it to the man’s side, knelt, and stuck him through the heart. The man’s eyes widened a moment before slowly closing.

Knifing the others to make sure none of them were faking being dead, Dean then collected his and Sam’s guns. His breathing was heavy and his legs wobbled, like he’d just run a country mile. But thoughts of his brother in danger kept him moving. Ignoring the intense desire to give his body the release it was so badly craving, he set off in the direction Sam went.

The windows of the house were dark. Sam’s boots crunched on the loose dirt under his feet as he begrudgingly walked toward it in front of the Woman in White and three of her posse. Their horses stopped. Sam looked back at the bandits and saw them staring at Constance with sadness in their eyes. So, they knew what Sam found out from Joseph.

When he went and saw the “widower” while Dean was indisposed in jail, the younger Winchester was able to get the man to confess after a bit of threatening. He’d cheated on Constance and she took too much apple weed trying to “be better”. She killed her children. Drowned them in the pond nearby. When she came down from her high to find her mortified husband and what she had done, she went to the bridge and threw herself in the water. She survived, but her mind was shattered.

Swinging down from her saddle, she walked in front of her horse next to Sam. He noticed that her feet were bare. Looking up at the house she whispered, “I can never go home.”

“You’re scared to go back?”

The question kind of came out. Sam regretted saying anything as soon as he felt the sting of the handle of her pistol slam against the side of his head. He fell to the dirt with a grunt of pain and didn’t have time to clear the stars from his eyes before Constance was on top of him, holding him down with more strength than she looked like she possessed.

Sam grunted, trying to pull free but she was a presented Beta. What could he do? Perhaps he could appeal to her?

“You can’t kill me. I haven’t been unfaithful!”

As soon as he’d spoken to her husband Joseph, Sam deduced that that was how she chose her victims. Those that spurned their loved ones for another. It was the only thing that explained the randomness of the killings.

“Not yet…” she hissed.

Without warning she ground her groin down onto Sam’s. The shock of it made him gasp. She bent down, pressing her lips against Sam’s. He struggled against her but that only made her more excited. The gyration of her hips intensified and he feet himself reacting to the stimulation. Getting angry, Sam sucked her lip into his mouth and bit. She recoiled, crying out in pain. As their eyes met, unhinged laughter bubbled up from her core. The color of darkened rust stained her teeth. Fear ran down his spine as the warm red liquid continued to drip from her mouth onto his chest.

The loud crack of gunfire came from the direction they’d left Dean and the other bandits. All five looked in that direction. After a moment, Constance stood, pointed at one of the men and ordered, “Go see what’s makin’ all that ruckus.”

Sam’s heart had sunk as soon as the sound registered. He wondered, horrified, if they’d just filled his brother with lead.

He didn’t have much opportunity to ponder further. Constance’s foot collided with his side. She missed his ribs, but it still hurt like hell. Rolling away from her, Sam coughed and wheezed. She kicked again, this time her foot connecting with the middle of his back. A series of crazed screams and laughs erupted from the small woman as she started beating the younger Winchester.

He fought back, but was no match for her strength or unpredictability.

All at once she had him by the throat. Sam clawed at her hand, gasping for air. She merely grinned, watching as his face slowly turned purple. In an instant a loud noise thundered through the clearing. At the same time Constance’s shoulder blossomed in a shower of blood. She recoiled as another shot rang out, releasing Sam’s neck. He collapsed, gasping, as shouts rose up from the other bandits. Constance staggered in their direction, clutching her shoulder.

Sam caught sight of Dean emerging from the woods close by, two pistols raised. His clothes were a mess and covered in fresh blood. Despite walking like he was drunk, there was a fire in his eyes.

“Get up Sammy!” he hollered, shooting a few more rounds at the bandits as they hurried to find cover.

Rocks scraped the palms of his hands as the taller of the two brothers scrambled to the tree line. The pair ducked behind separate trees just as returning fire exploded against the trunks, sending chunks of splintered wood into the air.

Shielding his eyes from the blast, Sam asked, “You got a gun?”

A thud at his feet answered him.

The pistol had most likely been relieved from one of the bandits that stayed back to assault Dean. Sam didn’t want to think about what happened. He was sure Dean didn’t want to either. Checking the number of bullets, Sam waited for Dean to start returning fire again before sprinting off. As he passed his brother he said, “Hold them off. I’m going to circle around.”

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but another hail of bullets shut him up. One caught the back of Sam’s calf, making him cry out in pain. Just a graze. The taller Winchester continued on, now on a mission to end this.

It didn’t take him long to loop around the back of the house to the other side of the clearing where the outlaws were posted up. He saw the flutter of Constance’s white dress in the faint light. He leveled his pistol at her and fired. Missing. The figures adjusted their positions realizing they were getting flanked. One made the mistake of peering out to try and locate Sam and caught a bullet straight in the forehead. He slumped to the ground lifeless.

“I’m sending you home, Constance!” Sam hollered challengingly.

Laughter and the clap of bullets answered him.

Sam chanced getting shot by his own brother in order to move forward. Constance hadn’t been expecting that. Blood covered her teeth and her eyes flashed with wild Beta power. It was all Sam saw as she rushed him, snapping her jaws wildly in an attempt to get at his neck. They fell together, a tangle of limbs and adrenaline. The breath was knocked from his lungs just as his gun went spiraling away from his hand as their bodies slammed into the dirt.

“Sam?!” Dean called worriedly.

Sam couldn’t answer. Constance was trying her hardest to tear his throat out.

It was here that Sam noted a strange feeling growing. It was like sitting next to a fire on a hot summer night, but more intense and came from deep in the center of his being. He’d never felt anything like it before. His thoughts began to jumble, making everything feel like he was watching from over his own shoulder as they happened. His hand shot out and found Constance’s throat and squeezed, catching her just as she was about to bring both her fists down on his head. She choked; surprised.

Sam held on even tighter, his fingers digging in to the soft flesh of her long neck. Her nails clawed uselessly at his skin. Her eyes cast around, looking for any sign of help. They widened in horror as they caught sight of something over Sam’s shoulder. Something about her acting so helpless now enraged him. After all the killing she’d done. He squeezed even harder, choking the life out of her. As her eyes bulged, Sam noticed that she didn’t look away from whatever it was that was behind him.

She slumped to the ground motionless as the sound of Dean’s footfalls drew closer. Coughing, Sam rolled away. As he sat on all fours, taking in deep calming breaths, the strange feeling that had enveloped him faded.

 _What the hell was that?_ He asked himself worriedly, trying to catch his breath as he shot a quick look up at his brother.

“Up you get,” Dean said, holding out a hand.

The touch of his brother’s solid hand was enough to get the rest of Sam’s mind clear.

Wondering what had gotten Constance so distracted during their fight, Sam looked around. Two grave markers about ten feet away sat unevenly in the ground.

As Sam studied the graves, Dean stood rooted to the spot. He’d just caught a whiff of the scent his brother was giving off. It was fading now, but unmistakably unnatural. It sent a shiver of terror down Dean’s spine. And he wasn’t one to get frightened easily.

What Sam had just done with his bare hands hit him like the kick of a mule to the chest. Sure, he’d shot outlaws when he’d been with his Pa and Dean, but he’d never killed one with his bare hands before. He’d never been strong enough.

“You okay?” Dean asked cautiously, sweat dripping from his brow as he noticed the change in his brother.

Sam glanced at Dean before muttering, “Yeah, yeah…you?”

Dean tugged at his ruined clothes subconsciously and laughed shakily, “Saved your ass, didn’t I?”

He really hadn’t changed in all the time Sam had been away. Even now that he was Omega. Sam let out a sigh. After all, he supposed he hadn’t really changed that much either. Or at least…he hoped he hadn’t.

The Winchesters left Jericho as quickly as they could. After recovering their horses, they set out for Stanford. Dean refused to admit that he was in heat. And instead insisted that they move on. Sam tried to argue, “There’s no more plumb weed, and you can barely stay on your saddle. Dean you should –”

“I don’t need to do nothing. I’m fine.” The blonde countered. “Killed those bastards without you, didn’t I?”

Never mind that his body must feel as though every touch was an assault to the senses, Dean would power through. Sam bit his lip, avoiding looking at his brother’s hunched and trembling form. He cast around his mind for what he could do to help.

“Here,” Dean called grumpily, offering up their father’s journal for inspection. “Pa put down coordinates for us to find.”

“You think he’s there?”

Dean shrugged, breathing heavily and tugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

As soon as Sam looked at the entry in the journal, the younger Winchester formed a plan. Waiting a few minutes, he cleared his throat and called, “I can’t really see what I need to to uh, find out where this goes. You – you mind if we stop and make a fire?”

Dean shot a look over at Sam, checking for any hint of ulterior motive.

“I mean, we’re probably far enough from Jericho that the law won’t catch up.”

The blonde glared over at the other for a moment. Finally, though, he decided to take the opportunity Sam was presenting him. Dean nodded.

The pair dismounted quickly after that. Sam resisted the urge to offer help and instead said, “Why don’t I go find some wood for a fire? You get camp set up.”

Dean grunted in agreement, working slowly on taking the saddle from his horse. Pulling out his pocket watch, Sam headed off in the direction he’d last seen wood, noting the time he left so he could make sure to stay away long enough for Dean to get at least a little bit of relief.

Still not wanting to admit what was happening, Dean dutifully unsaddled and brushed down the horses. Sweat dampened his skin, his legs and arms trembled weakly. With a huff, he sank onto his bedroll. Looking around, he saw sign of Sam.

Licking his lips, he stripped out of his coat and fell back onto his blankets. He finally allowed himself to give in. Curling onto his side away from the light of the fire, his hands shook as he undid his belt and struggled his pants down along his hips and thighs. As soon as his fingers made contact with the bare flesh there, a tingling started at the base of his skull and moved down his spine. It settled in his already straining groin. Whimpering, he curled his palm around the already weeping head of his penis. It pulsed painfully. Letting out a shaking sigh, he began stroking himself.

“Shit…!” he groaned. Even the vibration of his voice made him think of lips pressing and sucking against his throat.

He pumped faster, twisting his wrist when he neared the top of the shaft. His other hand slid up his stomach, across his chest, and up to his neck. There his fingers roamed, pressing intermittently. He curled in on himself tighter, wishing desperately there was someone that he could be close to.

It didn’t take much for his orgasm to roar to the surface. Hot, long strings of cum shot across the dirt next to his bedroll, one after the other until he was spent. He wasn’t sure how loud he was being, but in the moment he didn’t care. It felt too good. When it was all done, Dean let out a shaking breath and opened his eyes.

Blearily, he glanced down. His erection was still pulsing. Without the plumb weed to take the edge off of his heat, it would be unbearably strong. Dean knew he was going to be in for a rough night. Whimpering, he hoped Sam wouldn’t be back any time soon, and started masturbating again.

In the light of the early morning, Sam peered down at the map in his lap and pointed, “Here’s where Pa went. Blackwater Ridge, Colorado.”

The Winchesters hadn’t mentioned anything about last night at all. Sam steered clear of the campsite for a good two hours before coming back as loudly as he dared with an armful of firewood. He found Dean curled up on his bedroll pretending to be asleep. But he could see the fresh sheen of sweat shimmering in the moonlight on his brow. Clearing his throat quietly, Sam set about getting ready to sleep too.

Dean cursed under his breath, realizing that Colorado was more than six hundred miles from where they were now. Sam could see Dean wanting to ask him to come along. Truthfully, part of him wanted to. But their father was still in the wind and that didn’t change the fact that Sam was starting law school the next day.

Dean could see Sam thinking about his new life. The oldest Winchester glanced toward the road and back, squinting against the light.

“Let’s get you home…” Dean muttered, grabbing up Baby’s saddle.

Sam watched his brother, struggling against the twist in his gut, but ultimately mirrored the other’s actions. The two of them left their small campsite shortly after, neither one of them willing to broach the heavy silence that had fallen over their heads.

The bright lights of Stanford were a sight for sore eyes. Sam couldn’t help but relax at the thought of seeing Jessica again. As soon as he did, he would hold her in his arms. And damnit all if he was going to wait any longer to ask for her hand. After the last few days he knew what he wanted. And it was her. For the rest of his life.

Sam wondered if he should tell Dean about his intentions with Jessica as they made their way on foot through the city. They were brothers after all. Dean would probably be excited that he was going to start his own pack. But for whatever reason Sam couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Standing outside the boarding house Sam paused and turned to Dean. Their eyes met as the taller of the two asked, “Write me when you find him?”

Dean nodded.

“Maybe we can get together again, soon?”

Sam noted the twitch in Dean’s jaw just before he grumbled, “Yeah, all right.”

They stood awkwardly in silence, both struggling with their own personal demons. Eventually Sam made up his mind, patted his brother on the shoulder and strode up the steps to the boarding house.

“Sam?”

The younger of the two turned back, eyes wide and curious.

“You know, we made one hell of a team back there.” The genuine smile on Dean’s face simultaneously warmed Sam’s spirit and crushed it. He had been struggling with that very thought for the last day.

“Yeah,” Sam answered softly.

The hurt in his little brother’s eyes was what Dean needed to see to give him the strength to walk away. Shooting one last cheeky grin up at the brunette, Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets before tipping his hat. Sam watched him turn and go.

Sighing, the younger Winchester hoisted his rucksack higher on his shoulder before opening the door to the boarding house. The lights were on, but it was quiet. There was no sign of anyone.

“Mr. Moore? Miss Moore?” he called, removing his coat and hanging it on the hook next to the door. “Anyone home?”

No answer.

The faint smell of cookies wafted down the hall making Sam smile. Jessica must have been busy making them for when he got back, bless her soul. Looking over at the side table near the door he saw what looked to be a fresh plate of said oatmeal cookies next to a note that read: ‘ _Welcome back Mr. Winchester_.’ Of course, she knew he would return. He promised after all.

Happiness filled his body as he started down the narrow hall toward the kitchen where he believed she would be. But just as he was passing the sitting room doors, he got a whiff of something foul; stale iron and rotting meat.

Sam’s body seized up as fear seeped into his muscles.

“Jessica?” he called out tentatively.

No answer.

Reaching out, he took hold of the handle of the closed door. Taking in a steadying breath, which was a bad idea, he argued with the fear trying to control his body. The smell came again, staining the inside of his nose. It was one of those smells that would linger for hours. Horrific. Unable to stand it any longer, he forced his hand to push down on the handle. The doors fell open effortlessly.

What he saw made him double over and retch.

Blood. Blood everywhere. Splashed across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Every surface of the sitting room was drenched in red. As the doors yawned open, the smell intensified, hitting him like a blow to the face. Sam pressed his hand to his nose instinctively, but the scent was already burned into his olfactory senses. Staggering forward, his boots slipping along the wood, Sam found that he could not tear his eyes away from the horror that was the far western wall. Every square inch was covered in dismembered body parts that had been nailed in a sickeningly beautiful pattern around the fireplace.

It was the other residents of the boarding house. All of their heads lined the mantelpiece. Some still looked like they were screaming in pain. Above them was something that would haunt Sam’s nightmares until the day he died.

Suspended by her wrists and ankles on the ceiling above, was Jessica’s body dressed in only her underthings. Railroad spikes had been driven through her flesh, most prominent being the one through the center of her forehead and abdomen. Her eyes were half lidded and clouded over in death, staring blankly at Sam as he came to a stop beneath her. 

He fell to his knees. A long howl of agony ripped from his chest as his brain sluggishly started processing the grotesque display.

He’d just seen her a few days ago. Her warm chocolate brown eyes had danced happily in the light of a candle as she looked up at him with unabashed love and affection. The ring that was still in his pocket suddenly felt very heavy.

The front door burst open. Dean’s voice called out, “Sam?”

“Jessica!” Sam cried, hands going up to pull desperately at his hair. “Jess!”

As Dean (who had looped back to loiter outside the border house awkwardly) stepped into the room. He too froze in horror. The sight was something that he had never seen personally, but had heard plenty about. It was exactly what John Winchester had described to him over and over again growing up. Nearly identical to what happened to Mary Winchester. All Dean could think about as he gaped in shock, was that this was what their Pa said Mama had looked like pinned to the ceiling of their homestead in Kansas.

They had to go. Dean knew the law would be on them soon. Someone would figure out one of these people was missing. Not to mention there was the bastard responsible for this massacre. He was out there. And he knew who Sam was, where to find him, and how to make him hurt.

“Sam! Sammy!” Dean hollered, grabbing his little brother by the scruff of the neck and hauling him away from the nightmare in front of them.

“No! Jess! Jessica!” Sam cried, fighting weakly.

Glancing up at Jessica’s body, Dean muttered distractedly, “She’s gone, Sammy.”

“No!” Sam growled his refusal, digging his fingers into his brother’s arm like he was the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. “She can’t be!”

Dean’s entire body shivered. Despite his heat being on the down turn, something in the tone of his brother’s voice had an obvious effect. He wanted to bare his neck in apology on instinct. It was similar to what he’d scented off of Sam back in Jericho. That should have bothered him more, but the direness of the situation was still mounting. Silently willing himself to man up, he hauled his little brother to his feet so they faced each other.

Reaching up, he forced Sam to look him in the eye, shook him firmly and said, “We have to go.”

It felt like Sam was looking up from the bottom of a well at someone calling down from the top; trapped with the echoes of screams. But something in the way Dean’s hands trembled caught Sam’s attention. He focused on the green eyes looking into his own. He could see their mother and Jessica reflected back at him. Dean was scared.

Something primal and unfamiliar bubbled up inside. It was similar to what he had felt when he’d killed Constance. This time though, instead of glowing like the light of a candle, it was a blazing inferno. It hurt. But also felt good. Like something that had been missing from him his whole life had awakened.

Jess was dead. No getting around it. And Dean needed him.

As he stood, hands shaking at his sides, Sam felt as if flames radiated from his skin. Dean noticed and took a step back on instinct, not fully understanding why. Sam followed, reaching out to grasp at his brother possessively.

“Sammy –”

Sam squeezed, forcing Dean's mouth shut as he held back a noise of surprise and pain. This didn't go unnoticed by the taller Winchester.

Taking in a deep, steadying breath, he growled through clenched teeth, “No, you’re right. We should - we should leave...”

Wide-eyed, Dean watched as his brother’s face changed. The horror of finding Jessica still twisted his features, but his eyes hardened; danger simmered under the surface. Despite wanting to bare his neck, Dean instead bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged Sam off. They stood facing each other, breathing heavily, thoughts roiling silently.

“Matches.”

Sam raised up a blood smeared hand toward his brother. Dean's dark blonde brows furrowed as he shook his head in question.

“Give me your matches, Dean.” Sam repeated, his voice commanding. Neither paid much attention to how the words trembled a little.

Dean dug around in his pocket, struggling the small packet free. Sam snatched it up with more anger than intended and immediately strode to a nearby table. As he plucked the glass door open and lit the oil lamp's wick, the older Winchester realized what his brother was planning to do. Once again, a memory of their childhood home engulfed in flames flashed across his mind.

Working quickly, Sam lit the lamp and went to stare at the grotesque display of body parts. He allowed the anger inside him to whip into a frenzy. The lantern swayed to-and-fro at his side as he silently vowed that he would do everything, come Hell or high water, to avenge what had been done in this place.

He lobbed the lantern over his head, roaring in pain and anguish. The scream tore at his throat as glass smashed against the body parts littering the wood floor, exploding oil and flames. The bodies ignited. Angrily, the fire swelled, moving to engulf the base of the wall to climb higher.

The pair stood and watched the blaze.

Dean backed away, remembering the haunting sound of his mother's screams that woke him up as the wood at Jessica's feet started burning.

Sam's hands curled into fists, watching the blaze race across the ceiling. The lace hem of Jessica's knickers smoked before catching flame. The curtains drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows dripped burning fabric.

“C’mon, we gotta go!” Dean coughed, tugging on Sam’s arm as the sound of bells ringing and people yelling drew closer.

Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away.

It took all of Dean’s strength to drag his brother bodily from the room. The last thing Sam saw before disappearing around the corner was the fire emanating from the ceiling behind Jessica’s body, her beautiful golden hair burning away as her skin blackened.

The brothers fled across the street to a nearby alley and ducked into the shadows. Not long after, a crowd started gathering outside the boarding house. Some attempted a half-hearted gesture at getting buckets to fight back the flames, but it was already too far gone. They realized quickly once the fire brigade arrived and instead of fighting the fire, started preparing the houses next door to spare them the same fate.

Sam stood watching, face blank. Dean glanced at him warily, wondering if it had been his imagination - the power that had come off of his brother. Eventually the older of the two muttered something and went off to retrieve their horses. 

When he was gone, Sam reached into his pocket and withdrew the ring he'd planned on giving Jessica. He stared in angry desperation down at the small velvet box, unable to bring himself to open it and look upon the simple gold band he'd painstakingly chosen and saved for. It would have been beautiful sitting plainly on Jessica's delicate finger. She would have made it shine. Sam could imagine her face; what it would have been like when he got down on one knee. She would have smiled in disbelief before holding it close, like it was the most precious thing in all the world.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, cutting off the dream he'd been living in. Suddenly he couldn't stand the box touching him any longer. He held it out at arm’s length, like it too was on fire, and dropped it. It clattered across the cobblestone, landing somewhere in the shadows. 

Sam barely noticed when Dean returned.

Only when his hand fell on Sam's shoulder did the taller Winchester turn and see his brother standing with the horses in hand. Silently, the blonde offered up the broken man's reins, asking without words if he was going to join him on the road.

After a long pause, Sam looked up into his brother’s eyes and nodded resolutely.

Taking the reins and swinging up into his saddle, the taller of the two muttered, “We got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are staying happy and healthy out there! See you next update!


	5. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from Sam and Dean for a little glimpse at what Castiel is up to.

The ivory piano keys plunked loudly as the drunkard ham-fisted ‘Strawberry Roan’ out in the front. It served as a sort of tempo for Castiel. One to pace the thrust of his hips with. It was jarring, but worked well enough; at least to keep his mind focused while he finished.

“Please…harder!” the Omega beneath him gasped, sweat dripping along the line of his spine.

The sweet aroma of pheromones coming from the Omega’s neck washed over Castiel as he writhed desperately under the Alpha’s hands. Cas growled through gritted teeth, both telling the Omega to be still and that he was aroused. The Omega whined in response, opening himself, allowing Castiel to pound into him even deeper.

Castiel groaned, long and low. When he opened his eyes, he was unfortunate enough to meet the gaze of the other person in the room. The other Alpha’s condescending gaze further narrowed smugly on Cas’ _work_. Castiel’s dick softened slightly. Not because he was being watched. That normally didn’t bother him. No, it was because he was being watched by _him_. Out of all the other Pinkertons Cas worked alongside, Zachariah was the one that gave him the most unease. Not that Zacharia’s Alpha power was much stronger than Castiel’s own. He just didn’t trust the older Alpha.

Zachariah pushed off the wall, tipping his hat in Castiel’s direction before slipping out of the room. Cas’ mouth narrowed into one of displeasure for a moment. The Omega caught his attention by gyrating his hips on Cas’ dick, whining wantonly.

Alpha power flared deep in his chest as Cas was reminded of his duty. His hips started up again, skin slapping against skin. The Omega gasped and cried out in pleasure, burying his head in his arms.

Despite it being his right as an Alpha, Cas fought the urge to mark the beautiful exposed skin of the Omega. Instead, he shut his eyes and thrust, burying his member in warm, pliant heat. The power behind his movements slowed as he felt his climax build. The hole he was buried in clenched in anticipation, willing him to fill it with his seed. Every fiber of his being wanted him to do so. The thought of Zachariah’s watching eyes triggered Cas’ Alpha powers to flare in defiance. This was wrong.

This wasn’t his mate. This wasn’t his anything. This was some random Omega from some backwater town in some shabby saloon that Zachariah ordered him to breed. Why? Didn’t matter why. It was a show of loyalty.

Castiel’s mind cleared. He groaned, hips stuttering as he pulled out and shot his load all across the Omega’s back. For all of ten seconds his orgasm felt amazing. And then he came back to reality. The Omega was starting to complain. Castiel reached down and put his hand over the Omega’s mouth and leaned in so his lips were close to the other’s ear.

“Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, if you know what’s good for you.” Cas growled, wiping the evidence away with his free hand.

The Omega shuddered, nodding hurriedly. His whine was stifled in Castiel’s hand as the Alpha finished cleaning up.

Castiel stood, stared down at the Omega and then left. As he closed the door to the back room, Zachariah emerged from the shadows of the hallway. Jerking his head, the Alpha smirked, “Perks of being a Pinkerton.”

Careful to keep his face neutral, Cas answered by placing his hat low over his brow. He brushed past Zachariah, his spurs clanging softly as he headed for the front door of the saloon. The grizzled men and women nursing their glasses of whiskey eyed the lawman as he strode briskly through them. He didn’t pay them any mind.

The sun beat down intensely, warming the dirt road going through the center of town. It made the smell of horse manure even more intense.

“Disgusting,” Zachariah commented from behind Cas, wrinkling his nose. “Never liked small towns. Something about them has always struck me as…uncivilized.”

Castiel didn’t answer. Instead, he went over to where they’d hitched their horses and started untying.

“Can’t believe I’m getting sent out west,” Zachariah continued, unfazed by Castiel’s silence. “I mean, you I can understand, but _me_?”

Castiel swung up into his saddle, still not commenting.

“Ah, well, c’est la vie as the frogs say.” The older Alpha shrugged, casually stuffing a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek.

Castiel turned blue eyes on the older man. Zachariah stilled, noting the look. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before spitting and saying, “You sure don’t talk too much.”

“I don’t.”

Zachariah hauled himself into his own saddle and sighed, “Something tells me this is going to be a long ride.”

The pair flicked their reigns and turned their horses west.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little short, but I got inspired. Hope you all are staying safe out there, see you in the next update! <3


End file.
